


A Broken Engagement

by ButterscotchCandybatch



Category: Persuasion - Jane Austen, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Anal Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Regency Romance, Перевод на русский | Translation in Russian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-07 15:42:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterscotchCandybatch/pseuds/ButterscotchCandybatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes, the younger son of the Baronet Siger Holmes, is forced to break off his engagement to the commoner, young Navy Lieutenant John Watson. He retreats into cold isolation and a laudanum addiction and it appears he may never have another offer of marriage. When the rich and dashing Captain Watson returns eight years later, he is now courting a family friend, Mary Morstan. Can Sherlock win back his John? Regency period AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU same sex marriage is unremarkable and on an equal footing with hetero marriages. There is also equality in most professions, despite the Regency era setting. Yeah, because I like mixing it up!

The news never spread any further than his own family. The Holmeses never let slip anything that was not to their own advantage, neither the Baronet nor Mycroft, the heir to the estate. It would have been most definitely _not_ to their advantage to have it widely known that Sherlock, the younger son, had tried to throw himself away at age nineteen on a mere Navy lieutenant. Mycroft had long secretly thought that Sherlock had only the vaguest grasp of social realities, but even he should have realized that a baronet’s second son was a valuable commodity in the marriage market. The baronetcy could never be for sale, the family hall was in dire straights and all the land entailed. The only hope for the Holmeses to claw their way back to solvency was for Sherlock to marry well – which of course meant marrying money. Mycroft was the heir but despite his constant dieting, as everyone in the family tacitly admitted, he had barely half the physical attraction of Sherlock.

Sherlock was tall, willowy, graceful. He was accomplished, having mastered both classical and modern languages and played both piano and violin. When he played the violin his long fingers coaxed an amazing vibrato from the instrument as he swayed elegantly to the music – it was heart stopping to watch and hear. His pale skin set off his curly black hair and unfairly plump lips. Of course, when he opened those lips and spoke he ruined the whole effect with cutting personal remarks and bitter sarcasm. Still, Mycroft was hopeful that a family with money but no title might be willing to sacrifice one of its progeny to make a valuable connection with the Holmeses.

That assumed, naturally, that Sherlock remained a virgin and that no breath of scandal ever touched his name. Which meant putting an end to this ill-advised connection with a navy officer. Mycroft’s lip curled at the very thought of Lt. John Watson. A commoner, of the commonest sort. Short. Poor. _Ordinary_.

Sir Siger and Mycroft sat Sherlock down and explained to him in no uncertain terms what would happen to the family if he failed to marry well. The consequences would be more dire than any mere reduction of his allowance or curtailing of his travel privileges. The whole family could end up bankrupted and disgraced. They could lose Sherrinford Hall, seat of the Holmes family for eighteen generations. Mycroft and Sherlock, even their father and mother, would have to find jobs and work, like middle class peons. Did Sherlock want to see his mother hiring herself out as a seamstress? Was that his purpose in marrying to disoblige his family?

At this, Sherlock bowed his head and relented. Listlessly, he copied out the letter that Mycroft had written, enclosed the fine gold band with a chip of lapis lazuli John had given him, and sent off the package to John’s ship at Portsmouth. Then he lay down on the brocade chaise, turned his face to the wall and gave up all hope of ever being happy again.

**..oOo..**

John Watson, second lieutenant aboard the _Swift_ , boarded the ship’s boat and sighed happily. He was off to make his fortune and then he would be worthy of the love he had left behind. He had secured his Sherlock’s promise, left him with a ring that matched his glorious eyes, and when he had his prize money in hand he would buy cufflinks to match. Nothing would be too good for his husband. The ship’s boat bobbed on the high tide and John dreamed happy dreams as they waited for the last of the ship’s company to join them.

But instead a messenger panted up to the boat. “Is this the ship’s boat of the _Swift_?”

The steersman nodded. John frowned as he recognized the livery of the Baronet. It must be a message for him. Was Sherlock ill? Had something happened?

“Package for Lt. John Watson, can you take it to his ship?”

John stood, balancing in the rocking boat with the ease of long practice. “You can give it to him in person, if that would suit. But tell me,” John frowned, “is all well at the Hall? The Baronet and his lady and his sons?” John tried to control his voice which threatened to break on the last word. His career would be over if he missed this boat to go back, but what would he do if Sherlock were unwell? Their future prosperity depended on John, he was under no illusions that the Baronet would be able to give them anything. He did not mind – he would be proud to provide the best the world had to offer by the work of his hands for his Sherlock. But if Sherlock were ill? It must be serious to have struck since this morning, when he had left Sherlock smiling shyly at the new ring adorning his left hand.

However, there was no reason to expect calamity. Perhaps Sherlock had been eager to send him a love token? He had expressed dismay at the suddenness of John’s proposal, which meant that he had nothing to give John to remember him by. John had laughed and said that he did not need a physical token to remember Sherlock, and if worst came to worst he could always remember him by the burns on his left shirt cuff, from when he had helped Sherlock put out a fire from his latest ‘experiment’. Sherlock had blushed, his pale cheeks tinted with the most delicate rosy glow. John sighed in remembrance. Perhaps with his first prize money he would send some to Sherlock and ask him to sit for a portrait. It would be nice to have a picture of his husband to look at when he was away at sea. Or perhaps a ring made out of his glorious black hair? John recalled pushing his fingers into that riotous curly hair and using it as leverage as he took Sherlock’s mouth…

_They had been in the greenhouse, after a long walk through the grounds of Sherrinford Hall. Lady Holmes was growing orchids, which required heat and humidity that Shropshire could not provide. The heat was a bit much for John, in his formal waistcoat and jacket and Sherlock had seen him sweating. Sherlock had come up behind him and slipped his hands under his coat._

_“Take it off if you like. The orchids won’t mind, and I certainly won’t.” Sherlock had whispered in his ear._

_“But what if your mother comes to work on her orchids? It isn’t decent.” John had asked._

_Sherlock’s deep chuckle had John shrugging out of his jacket and waistcoat without waiting to hear his reasoning. “She won’t,” he had said. “She is entertaining Lady Russell this afternoon and Lady Russell feels the way you do about the greenhouse.”_

_“Really?” John had stopped peeling off his clothes. “Lady Russell wants to make love to you in the greenhouse?”_

_Sherlock had laughed and blushed and pulled John into him by his neckcloth. “Is that what you want? I thought you were just a little hot.”_

_John had kissed Sherlock and growled, “I’m very hot, and so are you, and you know what I want.” John had tossed his coat and waistcoat on the end of a bench and loosened the linen around his throat. He put his hands on Sherlock’s hips, “Do you know what you want?”_

_Sherlock had flushed a little then, and looked away. “I… John, you know I’ve never…”_

_He had looked so uncertain and adorable that John had just wanted to kiss him and make it all good for him right then, but he took a deep breath and disciplined his body. “I know. Just let me make you feel good, all right?”_

_Sherlock had nodded, and John gently pushed him backwards until he sat down on the bench. John stood between his parted knees and leaned down to kiss him, slowly and at length, until he gasped and broke away. “Oh, John! I need… I don’t know what I need.”_

_“But I do.” John had made a pillow of his coat and encouraged Sherlock to lie down on the bench. John had knelt beside it and quickly unbuttoned Sherlock’s waistcoat and pushed up the shirt underneath, finally giving John access to pale skin. John had run his hand and then his tongue over the exposed skin, tickling and teasing. By the time he straightened up, they were both flushed and panting. John finally did what he had been wanting for weeks now, ever since they met, which was to sink his fingers into Sherlock’s wild black curls, completely disordering them. They were softer than he had expected and he just enjoyed running his fingers through them until Sherlock had rubbed his head against John’s hand and protested._

_“John? You said you knew what I wanted, and this isn’t it. Or it isn’t enough. John, I need more of you.”_

_“All right, all right. There’s no rush.” John bent to take Sherlock’s mouth again, marvelling at the softness of his lips. At the same time he slid his left hand down over Sherlock’s bared belly and over the waistband of his breeches coming to rest directly over the bulge he could feel rapidly making its presence known. He stroked the bulge with firm pressure and felt Sherlock gasp against his lips. “Is that more like what you had in mind?”_

_Sherlock’s reply was a moan which seemed to indicate something positive, though without specific words. John had taken it as permission to proceed, and had gently slipped the fingers of his left hand inside the fall of Sherlock’s breeches and grasped his manhood through the silk of his smallclothes. John still treasured the sound of the gasp Sherlock had given then. No physical love token could ever be as powerful a talisman as that memory._

_He had rubbed his thumb over the head of Sherlock’s cock, feeling the silk become damp and then wet under his touch. He had continued to kiss Sherlock, involuntarily clenching his fingers in that lovely hair until Sherlock made a noise of protest._

_“Sorry, love,” John murmured, kissing his way down Sherlock’s lovely long neck. “I think I had better undress you a little more, unless you want the maid who does your linen to know what we have been up to?” John quirked one eyebrow at Sherlock, who blushed and nodded._

_“Do whatever you need to,” Sherlock whispered. “I am in your hands.”_

_“Mmm, so you are,” replied John. “At least for now. Soon I plan to have you in my mouth.” As he spoke John was quickly unbuttoning the waistband of Sherlock’s breeches and pulling the smallclothes down to mid-thigh. Sherlock’s erection sprang out eagerly as it was released from its confinement. Before Sherlock could express the doubts gathering in his eyes, John applied his lips and hand to the hot, hard flesh and Sherlock could not have spoken if Sherrinford Hall depended on it._

_John had stroked hands and lips up and down Sherlock’s shaft, had tongued the small slit at the crown and rubbed the rough side of his tongue over the most sensitive parts of Sherlock until he was bucking his hips up and gasping. The tension in his thighs told John that he was nearly there. Then John had engulfed him as far as possible and applied suction. The delicious heat which had gathered in Sherlock’s belly suddenly released in spurts of amazing pleasure, leaving him draped bonelessly over the bench with his eyes closed._

 

John was jolted from his pleasant thoughts by the messenger thrusting a package of letters into his hand. “They are all well, sir. Just the package from young master Sherlock.” He tugged his forelock and turned away.

John suppressed a smile. A message from Sherlock, then. Only, what on earth could he have put in to make it so thick? Rather than rush through such a delicious package, John resolved to ration it out. Read one page each day he was at sea until the end, then start again. No doubt that was what Sherlock had arranged. Perhaps it was a surprise that Sherlock had been working on it for some time, to please and entertain him? Could it contain naughty suggestions of what it might be like to be married? Sherlock was a virgin, of course, as befitted a son of a Great House. However, John had introduced him to some other forms of pleasure in the week before he had left, and Sherlock’s great intelligence seemed to have latched onto the idea rather quickly. John tucked the package carefully inside his greatcoat, where the crisp paper crackled promisingly as he hugged it to himself. John had to bite the inside of his cheek to contain his grin to an expression decent for the present company.

**..oOo..**

That night, in the privacy of his hammock, John opened the package. Surprisingly, it was only a short cover note in Sherlock’s writing with another package inside, tied with string. The inside package appeared to be papers. Perhaps he had been right, and it was a series of letters for him to read day by day? The cover note should explain it, so he turned his attention to that first.

_Dear John,_

_It is with deepest regret that I must inform you that on further consideration, I have realized that our social standings are so different as to make our attachment inappropriate. I therefore enclose your letters to me, and ask that you will destroy mine to you. I also return to you the small token of esteem you left with me when last we spoke. I am sure it will not be long before your affection and this ring may be bestowed upon another. I am likewise confident that you will be generous enough to wish me good fortune in finding a suitable marriage partner._

_Yours etc,_

_The Hon. S. Holmes*_

 

John crumpled the insulting letter in his fist. Social standing? Suitable marriage partner? _Good fortune?_ That meant money, of course. Well, if that was all Sherlock cared about, John wished him much luck in finding it. As for bestowing his affection on another, the sooner the better. John would be wise enough to choose someone of his own ‘social standing’ next time.

He threw his returned letters out the porthole, along with the awful note which Sherlock had not even bothered to sign with his Christian name. John almost threw the ring after them, but reconsidered. The ‘small token’ had been expensive on a lieutenant’s pay and if it had meant nothing to Sherlock there was no reason why he should not keep it, yes, and even give it to someone else if the opportunity presented itself. It obviously had no sentiment attached to it. John slipped it onto the last finger of his right hand and resolved to forget its former owner as soon as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The title “Honourable” is due to sons of peers, but not a baronet. Strictly, Sherlock should not be called anything apart from “Mr.” but in this instance I particularly wanted to make the point of Sherlock standing on his dignity and using his formal social title instead of his name – which meant that I needed to give him a title to use! Actually, both Mycroft and Sherlock as sons of a baronet do not have any titles at all. Their mother is correctly addressed as Lady Holmes, as the wife of a baronet. 
> 
> Mycroft’s dismissal of John as a ‘commoner’ is also rather ironic as a baronet is the one hereditary title which is not a peerage. So all of the Holmeses are technically commoners as well, much as they might try to ignore the fact!
> 
> Apologies to any Regency era purists out there – I’m not one of them! ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight years later...

The passing of eight years brings change to us all, and to the Holmeses in particular. The financial ruin which had threatened was now present. Even Mycroft’s machinations had not been able to stave off the consequences of their father’s reckless habits and their mother’s inability to restrain him. Unfortunately, the rich marriage partner for either Sherlock or Mycroft had never appeared. There had been a few suitors over the years, but in the end all had been frightened off by Sherlock’s acid tongue and cold demeanor.

There was no alternative. They would have to rent out Sherrinford Hall and find themselves cheaper accommodation elsewhere. A dispute arose over where to go, as Lady Holmes wished to remain in the local area where her friends and social connections were. However, their father and Mycroft quietly agreed that it would be unpleasant to continue to live in the same social circles in their reduced circumstances and possibly even have to take notice of their own tenants. No, unbearable. They must relocate.

The next question was, to where? London was impossible – it was more expensive to live in town than in their own house. Another country residence? Difficult to find one of suitable importance for their father and also of rental terms to suit Mycroft’s prudence. Sherlock had no opinion. He could be equally bored and miserable anywhere. His increasingly worrying laudanum* habit meant that he often had no opinion on anything.

In the end they settled on Bath. The famous spa town was large enough to give them some acquaintance but not so large as to require them to do much entertaining. Perfect. Mycroft and his mother oversaw the packing of their personal items. Sherlock was completely useless, of course, so the decision was made to send him to stay with some friends a bit further off in the country, the Lestrade family. Gregory Lestrade was the closest Sherlock had to a friend, and Mycroft hoped against hope that Greg might be able to shake Sherlock out of his apathy towards life.

Mycroft also hoped that their removal would be swift enough to avoid the humiliation of meeting their tenants. To his disappointment, this proved impossible. It was necessary that they meet with Admiral Harry Watson and her wife Clara for the signing of documents and the handing over of the keys to Sherrinford Hall.

The meeting went more smoothly than anyone had expected. Admiral Watson was a sensible woman, and her wife Clara simply charming. They were all more pleased with the acquaintance than any had expected, and even made talk of meeting up again in Bath, as the Watsons planned to visit there later in the year. The Holmes family departed, satisfied that their erstwhile home was in, if not hands as good as their own, hands which were acceptably competent.

**..oOo..**

Sherlock arrived at the home of Gregory Lestrade in his usual black mood. He passed the usual commentary on the weather, wished Greg’s wife and two small boys the appropriate greetings for the season, then proceeded to ignore them all.

On the third morning of Sherlock’s lying on their sofa, Greg finally induced him to take a walk. “Sherlock, at least come and meet our near neighbours. We often go shooting together or walking together, and I think you will find the daughters of the house very pleasant company indeed.” He winked at Sherlock, “Maybe more than pleasant company, if you know what I mean.”

Sherlock sniffed with disdain. There were no families of wealth or title in the area, and if he had not been allowed to marry poverty to follow his heart he certainly would not marry poverty without affection.

Greg rolled his eyes, “Oh, don’t be like that. Mary and Elizabeth are lovely girls, and their brother Charles is a very good shot and good company. At least let me introduce you.”

Finally Sherlock agreed, and later that morning found himself at Morstan House, shaking hands with Charles Morstan and his sisters Elizabeth and Mary Morstan. Sherlock agreed with Greg, that they were all good company – handsome, insipid and utterly boring.

He let the conversation drift along without his participation, until a name caught his ear. Mary was speaking to Greg. “Oh, but you simply _must_ come to dinner tomorrow night! Charles has made the most interesting new acquaintance – a Captain John Watson, of the _Laconia_. I gather he is also related to the current tenants of Sherrinford Hall, a younger brother of the admiral, I believe.” She nodded respectfully towards Sherlock, who pretended to ignore her. But inside his heart was pounding – John? After all these years? Would he still remember Sherlock? Would he still love him? Or would he still _hate_ him?

**..oOo..**

The next evening Sherlock and the Lestrades made their way to Morstan House for the formal dinner. When they arrived the Morstans were in the drawing room with Captain Watson. Mary and Elizabeth were poring over the Navy List, looking for Captain Watson’s first command, the _Asp_. Mrs. Morstan came over with Captain Watson from the tea table to make the introductions. For the first time in eight years, Sherlock and John stood face to face. Eight years is a long time, but to those with strong feelings, eight years may be little more than nothing.

John spoke first, in a soft but clear voice, raising his chin slightly. “No need for introductions, my dear Mrs Morstan. Mr Holmes and I are old _acquaintances_.” Was there a slight stress on the last word? John took a moment to look Sherlock up and down. “Although Mr Holmes, you are so altered if I had met you on the street I am not sure I would have known you again.” Then he turned away.

Sherlock was stricken. Not known him again? John might as well have said aloud that the man he had once loved was gone forever. Sherlock had broken their engagement, deserted and disappointed him. Then he had drowned himself in the laudanum bottle, emerging a skeletal wreck of the man he had been in his youth. Little wonder John was no longer attracted to him!

Sherlock wished his famous acid tongue would come to his rescue, but he could not think of a single vengeful word to say in return about John. He was the same man he had been eight years ago only more tanned, more confident and in all respects more desirable. Even worse, he was now looking down at Mary Morstan with a glowing, admiring look as she turned the pages of the book in her lap. It was over. His charm over John was gone forever. They were strangers. Worse than strangers, for after what had passed between them they could never become friends.

The company made their way into the dining room, where it appeared the torture was due to continue. Sherlock, as the son of a baronet, took precedence over everyone in the room and was seated at Mrs Morstan’s right hand. John as a Navy Captain was next in social rank, and was seated at her left, directly opposite Sherlock. Mary, the oldest of Mrs Morstan’s three children was beside John and clearly hanging on his every word.

Even before the white soup was served Mary asked John, “So, now that you are ‘paid off’ as they say, are you looking to settle down?” She gave him an arch smile.

He returned the smile with a warm one of his own. “Indeed. I am ready to fall in love with all the speed a clear head and a quick taste will allow. Anyone between the ages of… nineteen and thirty can have me for the asking.” He gave her a saucy wink. “A little beauty, a few smiles and some compliments to the Navy, and I am a lost man. After all, I am merely a _common_ sailor and should not expect too much, should I now?” He did not catch Sherlock’s eye with his last pointed remark, but his implication was obvious.

Mary’s protests that John was deserving of the very best and should not settle for anyone inferior were completely lost on both John and Sherlock. They were staring at each other across the table and after John’s little speech it was difficult to know who was in more agony of mind.

By the time Sherlock recovered enough to pay attention once again to the conversation, he wished he had stayed oblivious a little longer. Mary was quizzing John on the origin and history of the ring he wore on the little finger of his right hand. John laughed and held it up to the light.

“I bought it as a little souvenir of my travels in the East Indies. The seller told me it matched… my eyes.” The hesitation would not have been noticeable to anyone who knew John less well than Sherlock. John then lowered his voice to a pseudo-confidential whisper, “I bought it, but I don’t really think it matches my eyes, do you?” Mary eagerly accepted the opportunity to stare directly into John’s eyes and pretended to compare their colour to the stone of the ring.

After much too long spent staring at John from far too close quarters, Mary finally announced that the ring was rather too green and a touch too light in colour to be a good match for John’s dark blue eyes. John looked away and changed the subject.

After dinner the young Morstans proposed a little dance, just among the friends present, and of course Sherlock was pressed to play for them. He speedily agreed, as he would much rather be lost in the mathematical progressions of the music than be forced to stand up and make polite conversation with one dance partner after another.

The Morstans danced about most cheerfully and were all lively and charming. By the end of the evening it was clear that both Mary and Elizabeth felt Captain Watson was likely to become the property of one or the other of them, and only their strong sisterly affection prevented their rivalry from becoming openly contested.

Sherlock played until his fingers ached, and wished that pain could overpower the ache in his heart. John danced lightly, beautifully and conversed easily with everyone in the room. Everyone except for Sherlock. He heard his own name mentioned by John exactly once, when John asked Mrs Lestrade if Sherlock never danced? Mrs Lestrade replied carelessly that she had never seen Sherlock dance, that to her knowledge he had never expressed a desire to do so.

At the end of that air, they had stopped close by the piano where Sherlock was sitting as he stretched out his hands and wrists before beginning another piece. John looked over and courteously thanked Sherlock for his efforts which made possible their enjoyment. Sherlock replied quietly that it was no trouble, that he would much rather play than dance. Then they were gone again, back into the swirl of dancers.

Sherlock’s stoic mask of indifference had never served him better, and fortunately he did not need to see the written music to be able to play. If his eyes were filled with tears there was no-one to notice. John certainly never looked at Sherlock again, and Sherlock could not bring himself to wish for John’s attention. His cold courtesy and formal politeness contrasted so dreadfully with his previous warmth and familiarity that Sherlock could only wish the whole evening were over. He could not endure the torment of having John in the same room and Sherlock with his heart still yearning after him the same, but John so different.

Unfortunately for Sherlock, the agony of the evening was not yet over when they returned home. Greg and Mrs Lestrade had to discuss the evening and exchange opinions over whether Captain Watson preferred Mary or Elizabeth. Greg favoured Elizabeth, as being the prettier of the two sisters. Mrs Lestrade thought Mary more likely, as the oldest sister and with the most lively manners. Sherlock himself was unsure – once, he would have known immediately what John preferred but now?

Greg laughed at his wife. “Did you not hear him speak about his service? He must have made at least twenty thousand pounds in the war! He does not need to marry the heiress – he has enough money to marry where he chooses and even a titled family would be glad to have him marry one of their younger children, at least. Titled families always need money, you know.” He chuckled, then abruptly stopped himself and glanced apologetically towards Sherlock.

Sherlock rose with quiet dignity. “I think I shall bid you good night and retire.” If they thought he was offended on the basis of their remarks about his family, that was all the better. Anything was better than for them to realize the true state of his internal despair regarding Captain Watson. _His John._ Only ever to be called that in his thoughts now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Laudanum was a blend of opium and alcohol. Cocaine was not isolated until the latter half of the nineteenth century, so in this AU Sherlock cannot be the cocaine user we all know and love!


	3. Chapter 3

The attachment between the Morstans and the Lestrades continued very steadily. The two families met almost every day for walking parties, shooting parties and picnics around the grounds of one or the other of their estates. Captain Watson was invariably included, as Charles Morstan’s most steady friend and soon as the professed admirer of the Morstan sisters. It was true that it was not obvious whether he preferred Mary or Elizabeth, but Mrs Morstan watched their interaction with satisfaction, Sherlock with a less composed mind.

One morning Captain Watson called on the Lestrades so very early that only Sherlock was in the living room. Their mutual embarrassment made the atmosphere in the room very thick, and John soon walked to the window for a breath of air and to compose himself and remember his manners.

“I am sorry to impose upon you,” he finally said. “Mrs Morstan told me that Miss Morstan and Miss Elizabeth were here visiting with Mrs Lestrade.” In a lower voice he added, “I had certainly not intended to obtrude myself upon your solitude.”

Sherlock suppressed a flinch at this openly expressed disdain for his company and only replied, “They are here, but upstairs with Mrs Lestrade. I expect them down any moment.”

Silence resumed in the room, and it was a relief to both of them when Greg’s two little sons ran into the room. On seeing a stranger, as Captain Watson was not known to them, they became shy and the younger boy fastened himself to one leg of Sherlock’s breeches. He was only four, but his hands clung distressingly high on Sherlock’s thigh drawing attention where it was inappropriate for either of them to follow with their minds or memories. Sherlock whispered to the boy, entreated, begged and finally tried to bribe him to get away with the offer of tea and sweetmeats from the kitchen. He clung stubbornly, seeming now to make it almost a game to distress and embarrass Sherlock further.

Just as Sherlock gave up in despair and resigned himself to not being able to sit down for the rest of the interview, John came to his rescue. John pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and invited the boy to come learn how to make a paper boat that would really sail on the pond. With such delights ahead of him, the joys of clinging to Sherlock’s leg were immediately superseded. John proceeded to quietly entertain and interest the boy until the ladies descended and the whole party walked out, leaving Sherlock alone to consider the morning’s events.

John had helped him. John had, in his practical no-fuss way come to his rescue. Did this mean that John still cared for him? That John did not wish to see him embarrassed? Or would John have done as much for anyone? Perhaps it was simply to avoid a tête-à-tête with Sherlock? Sherlock spent the rest of the morning analyzing John’s motives without coming to a satisfactory conclusion.

**..oOo..**

When the walking party returned to the house for lunch, they had hatched a new and delightful scheme. Captain Watson had received a letter from an old navy acquaintance who was currently recovering from a wound and resting in lodgings at Lyme, only seventeen miles from Morstan House. Why should they all not go to Lyme and accompany Captain Watson to visit his friend and give all of them a trip to the seaside? No reason at all! It was a delightful scheme to all involved, and of course Sherlock would accompany them, Greg insisted on it.

Therefore the next morning after an early breakfast the Lestrades took out their carriage and seated in it were Mary and Elizabeth Morstan, Sherlock and Mrs Lestrade. Sherlock had never regretted more that he had not brought his own horse and that Greg’s stable did not extend to a spare for him. Greg rode his own road horse beside the carriage, while Charles Morstan drove Captain Watson in his curricle.

When they arrived in Lyme, they made enquiries and left their luggage at the inn. Most of the activities of the season were closed already, as it was November, but one inn was still open and able to provide them with accommodation and a good dinner. Once this was settled, naturally their first object was to walk down to visit the sea.

The beach views were everything they had hoped for, although it was getting later in the day than their original plans had predicated. Captain Watson proposed losing no more time, but walking directly to the little house where his friend, Captain Murray, was lodging. Accordingly, they all made their way along the beach towards the pier. Captain Watson went ahead to the little cluster of houses along the pier, disappearing inside one for mere moments before re-emerging with another navy captain in tow, this one with a slight limp and a cane.

Introductions were performed, and Captain Murray bowed and murmured the appropriate politenesses to all the party. As it turned out, Captain Murray had once been the first lieutenant on board the _Asp_ and had served with Captain Watson in that capacity prior to his own promotion. His personal history was also very interesting, and all the party felt an immediate sympathy for the young captain when it was revealed that his fiancée had recently died while he was at sea. She had never known that he had made his fortune in the war, and he had returned unaware of her death until his mail caught up with him here at Lyme.

Captain Murray gave them a sad smile as he showed them the portrait he had sat for on his arrival back in Portsmouth. He had intended it for her as a wedding present, but before it was even completed he had received news of her death. Sadly, he had no matching portrait of her as a keepsake, only her letters and a memory.

“Never fear, Murray,” said Captain Watson with a bracing slap on his friend’s shoulder. “Perfect memories require no physical object to anchor them, but at least you have her letters.” Captain Watson did not look at Sherlock, but were those words intended as a slight at him? He had returned all the physical tokens of their relationship and had requested that his letters to John be destroyed. John still had the ring, but did he think Sherlock had a perfect memory?

By then the rest of the party had walked on, and Sherlock had to hurry to catch up. As he did so, he reflected that Captain Murray’s situation was not so very different from his own. In addition, Captain Murray was a younger man, with an active profession and more hope of meeting someone new who might capture his heart than Sherlock, whose heart was captured but without hope. John, on the contrary, seemed to have hopes in his heart already. Then Sherlock scoffed at himself – eight years was by no means ‘already’, and it was ridiculous to think that John would still be thinking of him after all that time without even a sight of each other. Only one with a perfect memory would think so.

After an hour’s pleasant walk and chat with Captain Murray, it was time to return to the inn to dress and dine. They arranged to meet Captain Murray again the next day on the pier, and if his leg was not too stiff, he also engaged to call upon them in the evening. So they parted, all well pleased with their day of pleasure. If some of the party had mental reflections which were not entirely satisfactory, it was not mentioned.

As they were climbing the hill back to their inn, they encountered a lady walking down the street towards the sea. It was an unusual time of year to meet other visitors, but even taking this into account, the lady appeared to stare at Sherlock for longer than could be considered strictly polite. Her gaze was not only curious, it was also openly admiring. John looked at her sharply and with some displeasure. She was finely made, with bright red lips and rather less clothing than the November weather made prudent. However, they soon passed her and returned to the warmth of the inn, their family party and their dinner.

**..oOo..**

Sure enough, that evening Captain Murray presented himself to the drawing room of their inn and the whole group enjoyed an evening of conversation in front of the roaring fire. Sherlock, who usually sat quietly to one side in these evening gatherings, found himself in earnest conversation with Captain Murray. Apparently the Captain’s spirits were low also, and he did not desire the more boisterous and occasionally flirtatious conversation currently engaging the Misses Morstan, Charles Morstan and Captain Watson at the other end of the room. Greg and Mrs Lestrade had gone out for a short evening stroll.

Sherlock found Captain Murray’s conversation surprisingly congenial. He talked well of music and showed excellent taste for a man who could not play. Apparently his fiancée had played beautifully on several instruments not, alas, including the violin. He was consequently very interested to hear what Sherlock had to say on the subject of violin music by composers with whom he was already familiar.

After Captain Murray had left them, as they retired to their rooms upstairs, Greg elbowed Sherlock in the ribs. “I see you have made a conquest.”

Sherlock arched one eyebrow as he replied, “I detest such expressions as ‘conquests’ and ‘setting one’s cap’, but if you are going to use them you may as well be precise. Of whom are you speaking?”

“Captain Murray was very taken with you, and barely spoke to anyone else all evening.”

Greg’s wife interrupted with, “Don’t be ridiculous, Lestrade. The man has just lost his fiancée! You are reading too much into one conversation. If you want to see a match in progress, just look at Captain Watson and Mary! They had their heads together the whole evening to the point that Elizabeth was quite put out. There will be a happy announcement there soon, you mark my words.”

Greg shrugged, apparently unconvinced. Sherlock murmured something that could be construed as agreement and retired to his room with a sinking heart. He did not care for the admiration of strangers on the street or Captains in the drawing room. If John was almost engaged to Mary his heart was too broken to care.

**..oOo..**

The next morning as he made his way down to breakfast Sherlock was surprised to meet in the hallway with the same woman they had seen on the street the day before. He made his apologies and stood aside for her. She curtseyed without speaking and swept past him and out to the yard where her carriage was being readied. A lady of means, it appeared. Sherlock watched out the window as her companion opened the door of the coach for her and her manservant closed it behind them both. Unfortunately he was standing in front of the door of the coach, so it was impossible to see the livery which would have announced her identity. Sherlock was just determining to wait to see the coat of arms when the Lestrades came down the corridor and carried him off to the breakfast room.

Sherlock’s curiosity got the better of him during breakfast and he asked one of the servants waiting at table the identity of the lady staying at the inn who had departed just that morning. The servant replied, “Mrs Irene Adler, sir. A widow who is on her way to Bath for the winter.”

Sherlock mulled over this information. Who was Mrs Irene Adler?

**..oOo..**

After breakfast the whole party walked out to enjoy the sea views from the pier once more before returning home. They met with Captain Murray halfway down the hill, and again he attached himself to Sherlock and they conversed most pleasantly of authors and composers as they strolled.

The party walked along the pier with the initial intention of seeing Captain Murray back to his accommodation, but the wind was picking up and soon it was unpleasantly cold. They looked for a way to descend to the more sheltered beach walkway, but there was only a small ladder with iron rungs set into the stone of the seawall. It looked altogether too precarious for those of the party wearing only low slippers. They had just about decided to part ways with Captain Murray and return to the inn, when Mary started teasing Captain Watson about his reluctance to display his seamanship skills by descending the ladder. Of course he protested that no such reluctance existed, that it was consideration for the ladies of the party which motivated his decision. Mary would not stop, teasing and provoking John until finally he agreed to assist the ladies of the party who might wish to descend and walk along the shore. Only Mary was keen, Elizabeth and the Lestrades deciding to return directly to the inn. Sherlock and Captain Murray descended the ladder first and stood at the bottom watching as John assisted Mary to descend.

As he watched, Sherlock reflected that it really was a most awkward endeavour and nothing to do with seamanship at all. Mary should have realized that sailors used ropes and rigging, not iron staples. John was doing a sterling job under the circumstances, naturally, but Mary’s slippers while fine for walking were most unsuitable for this kind of activity. This thought had no more crossed his mind when one of Mary’s feet slid out of her shoe. She screamed as her fingers slipped off the iron rungs, and John’s grab for her hand was just a fraction too slow. She plummeted to the stone pathway three metres below, landing just in front of Sherlock and Captain Murray, and lay still.

John tore down the ladder, eschewing the last four rungs and jumping instead directly to the ground. He fell to his knees beside Mary, taking up her hand and checking for a pulse. He clasped her hand to his chest and gasped with relief, “She lives!” There was no blood, no obvious wound, but her eyes remained closed and though she breathed, there was no sign of consciousness.

Sherlock felt himself start to breathe again at the news, but Captain Murray was ahead of both of them. “Bring her to my lodgings, and I will fetch the surgeon to come directly there!” he cried and set off immediately for the town. Sherlock and John picked up Mary, trying not to jostle her head and carried her to Murray’s boardinghouse. They laid her on the sofa in the drawing room in front of the fire, covered her with a blanket and then there was nothing to do but to wait. John and Sherlock each carried his fears and hopes in his chest, but neither felt able to confide them in the other.

**..oOo..**

Captain Murray soon returned with the surgeon, who examined Mary and pronounced that her head injury was serious and her brain had suffered a contusion, but the case was by no means hopeless. He had seen people recover from worse injuries. He left them with cautious hope.

“Thank God,” groaned John when he was gone. Then he sank down into a chair and rested his head on his folded arms on the table, oblivious to the discussion going on in the rest of the room. Sherlock was cut to the heart to see him in pain, and for such a reason. Had he been contemplating the death of the woman he loved? Sherlock dared not ask.

Finally, something else occurred to Sherlock, and in a low voice he asked the room in general, “Her father and mother – how can we tell them?”

At this, John raised his head, his face pale and tear-streaked but composed. “I will go. I must. It was my fault that she fell. No,” he raised his hand to forestall Sherlock’s protests. “It was my fault she was on the ladder in the first place. She would not have insisted if I had not been weak. I will inform the rest of the party on my way past the inn, and send Elizabeth back to stay with her.” Then he was gone.

Captain Murray did his best to reassure Sherlock as they waited, resting one hand on his shoulder, and Sherlock started to wonder if perhaps Greg had been right. Captain Murray’s despair at the loss of his fiancée might be starting to lift, and perhaps his thoughts were starting to take a new direction. If so, how to deter him?

Then the Lestrade’s carriage arrived at the door, and it was but the work of a moment for Elizabeth to alight and for Sherlock to be seated instead. Charles was driving Greg in the curricle, as John had taken his horse for the urgent journey back to Morstan House. In the carriage Sherlock and Mrs Lestrade were too oppressed in spirit for conversation, and too aware of the empty seats beside each of them.

The journey passed quickly, possibly because of the dread of what awaited them at its end. As they drove into the village they passed John heading back the other way. Clearly he had broken the news to Mr and Mrs Morstan, changed horses and was headed back to Lyme and Mary, immediately. Sherlock stared into his pale face as he rode past them, but he gave no sign of recognition.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A week later, in Bath...

Sherlock had only stayed two more days with the Lestrades after their return from Lyme, before rejoining the rest of the Holmeses in Bath. In that time the news from Lyme was much the same. Mary had opened her eyes but was still very weak and spent most of the time sleeping. Charles had taken the old nursery maid down to Lyme to nurse Mary and brought back Elizabeth, and affairs at Morstan House were as close to normal as could be expected under the circumstances.

It was rather odd then for Sherlock to arrive at Camden Place in Bath and be reunited with his mother, father and Mycroft, to find that they had only little interest in what had happened at Lyme. They were much more interested in their evening card parties and social connections and the latest news – that the Watsons were in Bath. Sherlock was delegated to go pay the family’s respects and to invite them to an evening party. The visit was duly paid, and Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief only to meet with Harry and Clara Watson. John had not yet joined them, although they said he was expected any day.

The next arrivals in Bath were the Lestrades, and they brought interesting news not only of Mary Morstan but also of Captain Murray. Apparently he had been invited to join them in Bath and at first had accepted but then there was talk of being “completely misunderstood” and with one thing and another the end result was that he did not mean to come.

Greg interrupted his wife at that point. “Don’t be ridiculous, you know how it really was. He wanted to see Sherlock, thinking that he was staying with us in Bath as well. When he found out that Sherlock was with his own family and not with us, he suddenly lost interest in the trip!”

Mrs Lestrade huffed and puffed, but could not deny it. She merely sniffed and added, “He only lost his fiancée six months ago. If he feels able to move on already, I think his heart is not worth having. Besides, Mr Holmes, it is not as if he talks of you.”

“No, that is true,” admitted Greg. “But he carries on about violin music, and he was never interested in it before.” Greg shrugged as if to say _make of it what you will._

The subject then shifted to Captain Watson. Mrs Lestrade informed them all that his spirits were still very low, but recovering as Mary was now able to sit up. Once he was assured of her well-being, he had gone off to Plymouth on navy business and left her to rest.

Lady Holmes then hurried forward to inform the party of some other new acquaintance in Bath. A certain Mrs Irene Adler was being much fêted about the place, and apparently she had been seen to be paying particular attention to Mycroft. She was a wealthy widow and Mycroft was preening under the attention, finally, which as the heir he had long felt he deserved.

Mycroft was very pleased with Bath. Their house in Camden Place was one of the best on the street, his acquaintance was very sought-after and he was making connections and even turning away the cards of people seeking introductions. It was all very satisfactory. Most importantly, Mycroft was being courted by Mrs Adler. She had been in Bath a fortnight and had spent most of that time with Mycroft. She had called, dined with them and generally made herself pleasing not only to Mycroft but also to Lady Holmes and Sir Siger. None of them could find a fault in her, and the rumour of her personal wealth made Sir Siger positively rub his hands with anticipation.

Sherlock was struck with the suddenness of Mrs Adler’s appearance in their lives, but as Mycroft seemed to have no objections or hesitations, he shrugged it off. Unlikely as it seemed, perhaps she was genuinely attracted to Mycroft? Either that or his title, Sherlock could not bring himself to care.

Even as they were discussing the various people of Bath, there was a knock at the door. Sherlock was surprised, as it was ten o’clock at night. Were they in the habit of entertaining so late? Lady Holmes giggled and Mycroft blushed, and Sherlock easily deduced that they were expecting Mrs Adler to pay her respects.

Another moment and the woman herself was before them. It was indeed the same lady Sherlock had seen so briefly at Lyme. She swept elegantly into the room, apologizing for the lateness of the hour, but she knew they would excuse her intrusion, etc. She came, apparently, to make sure Lady Holmes had taken no cold from being caught in the rain the day before. Lady Holmes assured Mrs Adler that she was perfectly well, with a smile which said that they both knew that was the excuse and not the reason for her call.

Sherlock had stayed in the shadows by the fireplace initially, until Lady Holmes then asked leave to introduce her younger son and drew him forward. Mrs Adler started somewhat on seeing him, but then smiled and was clearly pleased to make the acquaintance of the mysterious stranger she had so admired at Lyme. With the most perfect poise she begged to be claimed as an acquaintance already and made several pretty speeches alluding to the beauties of Lyme. Her manner was so pleasing, so open, so attentive that Sherlock could only think of one other person whose manners he liked so well. Their styles were not at all similar, naturally, but perhaps both did equally well.

Mrs Adler sat down on the chaise next to Sherlock and made some further allusions to Lyme. She wanted to hear of Sherlock’s travels, his impressions of the place and of course, once she heard about the accident nothing would do but for her to have all the details in her possession. By the time the clock struck eleven, they were all amazed that the time had passed so quickly and so pleasantly. Mrs Adler made her goodbyes, promised to visit again the next day and departed leaving all the Holmeses well satisfied with her performance.

**..oOo..**

The following week only improved their knowledge of each other. Mrs Adler visited every day, and was uniformly charming. Every conversation showed her to be educated, attentive and to have well thought-out opinions. Her manners were elegant, her dress always correct in every detail and she was always considerate as to what would best please Lady Holmes, her ostensible hostess.

Whenever Mrs Adler sat with Sherlock, they spoke of Lyme. She recollected her surprise at first seeing Sherlock and how struck she was by his face and figure. Sherlock recalled her stare, and of course that brought to mind the gaze of another person who was not so well pleased to see Mrs Adler looking at him.

Mrs Adler was once again lamenting that she had not inquired at the inn as to the names of the lively company next door, or that she had not requested an introduction. “For you all sounded such a jovial company I would have loved to join you, but I was so focused on my journey. Never mind, we are now acquainted and I find you all and the Lestrades such good company.”

Sherlock raised one eyebrow. “You find Mrs Lestrade good company? I must beg to differ. My idea of good company is that of clever, well-informed people who have a great deal of conversation.”

Mrs Adler laughed. “You are mistaken then. That is not _good_ company, that is the _best_. Good company requires only birth, education and manners, and with regard to education it is not very demanding. Birth and good manners are essential. A little learning is by no means a dangerous thing in good company, on the contrary it will do very well!”

Sherlock laughed and turned the subject.

**..oOo..**

Sherlock had one other acquaintance in Bath to visit. His old boarding school landlady was now a widow and living permanently in Bath due to her declining health. Mrs Hudson’s arthritis was bothering her to such an extent that she was no longer able to move freely about the town. Her husband had been a criminal and by the time of his death their financial affairs were very involved, leaving her with almost nothing to live upon. She had come to Bath for the healing waters and found herself almost completely excluded from society and living in small lodgings unable to afford even a servant to attend her. Her only contact with the outside world was via a certain Nurse Rooke, who brought gossip and news from the streets of Bath and who also took Mrs Hudson’s little handcrafts and sold them to the wealthy women she nursed on other days.

Sherlock was amazed at her cheerful fortitude in the midst of most distressing circumstances. Mrs Hudson had been independent and now it was all gone and she was effectively crippled, yet she was very rarely subject to lowness of spirits. Sherlock was all admiration, and a little shamefaced at how quickly he had let himself go after John had gone back to sea. He resolved to give up the laudanum and to follow Mrs Hudson’s example.

**..oOo..**

Sherlock returned to Camden Place to find that Mrs Adler had called in his absence and been disappointed to find him gone. On hearing that he was visiting a sick Mrs Hudson, she had been all praise and admiration of his dutiful visits. Mycroft was forgotten, Mrs Adler’s admiration was all for Sherlock. Lady Holmes was all a-flutter, being equally well pleased to see either son of hers well married. She spoke incautiously of these hopes directly to Sherlock, who wasted no time in pouring cold water on the whole idea.

“We should not suit,” he said shortly. He turned and walked away from his mother towards the window. Mrs Adler was certainly agreeable, mannerly and all that was genteel. But Sherlock could only ever see himself married to one person, and until he was lost forever in marriage to another Sherlock must always yearn after him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A month later, still in Bath.

It was now the beginning of February, and Sherlock was wondering whatever had happened in Lyme with Mary, and where was John? He had heard nothing for over three weeks, and he resolved to seek out Admiral Watson and ask. Surely she must have heard something from her brother?

He called on the Watsons, and they were very welcoming and eager to share their news. Mary was well and had returned to Morstan House without incident – but their best news concerned not her health but her offer of marriage!

Sherlock steeled himself to hear the news he had been dreading for months. Was it all over then? Was it all finally settled between Mary Morstan and John?

Harry Watson was overflowing with the news, “Oh, you will never believe it! Mary had spent all that time in the care of her old nursery maid and Captain Murray, and now he has gone and made her an offer! She was inclined to accept, though of course nothing could be finally settled until her parents gave the attachment their seal of approval, but the young people were so happy and he has a very eligible fortune and isn’t it all delightful?”

Clara interrupted, “I do wonder what John will say, as I know Harry thought him rather sweet on Mary at one stage, but I always said I could see nothing of it. I would hate to see a friendship such as that of John and Bill ruined over a woman.”

Clara had more to say on the subject, but Sherlock was no longer listening. It was all he could do to stay upright as relief and joy flooded his body. John was free! But how had it happened? Had John given Mary up? Was that why he had gone to Portsmouth? Did it mean, _could_ it mean that he still had feelings for… someone else? Please, let that be the case and not that Captain Murray had gone behind his back. Although, that could still be good for Sherlock, as a broken John might need comforting? No, the first way was better. Sherlock was not too proud to take John back in any case, but it would be better if he came to Sherlock because he wanted him, and not just because he had a broken heart.

He came back to himself with a start. Clara was still talking about Captain Murray, “…Only a commander and now that peace has come is not likely to be promoted soon, but he’s none the worse for that. I just cannot understand how Mary, who was supposed to be so in love with John, could come to prefer Bill. He is not half the man John is, but I suppose after all those weeks together as she recovered from her head injury… Poor John, now he will have to start all over again with someone else. I think we should invite him again to come to Bath, don’t you Harry? We should get him to Bath. There are lots of suitable young people here for him to meet. Well, anyway, Mr Holmes, can I offer you some tea and cake?”

Sherlock jumped to his feet. “Nothing, thank you. I must get back to Camden Place. Mycroft, that is Mr Holmes, will want to know…”

“At least let us offer you our carriage to take you back?” Harry gestured to the window which was heavily overcast.

“No, thank you, I’m fine. I would rather walk. Get some air.” Sherlock wandered out of their lodgings and into the street with only the vaguest idea of where he was going. His head was full of only one thought; _John is free!_

When the chorus dinning in his head finally receded enough for Sherlock to know where he was, he realized his feet had carried him into town. He turned into the bookshop to sit down for a moment. Inside, he was surprised to see Mycroft and his mother talking with Mrs Adler. Sherlock decided to hover out of the way, but soon realized that in the confines of the shop it would be impossible to pass unnoticed. He therefore took a deep breath and sighed, then joined them in idle conversation about the weather and gossip of Bath.

Outside it was starting to rain, and more people were pouring into the shop every minute, making it unpleasantly crowded. With the onset of the rain, Mrs Adler naturally offered Lady Holmes the use of her barouche to take her home without getting her feet wet. The invitation was extended to the whole party, and they slowly made their way to the front of the shop where Mrs Adler called for her footman with an umbrella. Lady Holmes and Mycroft were escorted to the carriage first while Mrs Adler attached herself to Sherlock’s arm.

As they were waiting, Sherlock suddenly spied Captain John Watson making his way down the street to the shop to get out of the rain. His stomach gave an unexpected lurch. How could John be here already? His sister had spoken of writing to invite him only that morning. But then Sherlock remembered that she had said she would invite him _again_ , so she must have written before.

Mrs Adler went to speak to her footman for a moment, leaving Sherlock to gather his thoughts before facing John. The next moment John was before him. John himself was clearly startled and not expecting to see Sherlock. He flushed quite red before collecting himself and bowing. Sherlock was glad that seeing him through the shop window had given him a few extra moments to prepare himself, and felt that for once he had the advantage of John in a social setting. Sherlock looked closely at John, but it was impossible to tell if he felt himself disappointed or not by the loss of Mary. The question would need to be settled another time.

“Mr Holmes,” John finally managed, and then passed the usual enquiries about everyone’s health since they had last met. Sherlock noted that he was not at ease. His eyes darted around the shop as if wondering that Sherlock was alone. He was just offering himself as escort and the use of his umbrella to take Sherlock home, when Mrs Adler reappeared. She appropriated his arm in a familiar manner and remarked that the carriage was ready whenever Sherlock wished to return home. She cooed and smiled and insinuated but did not request an introduction, instead drawing Sherlock away towards the door. He only had time to wish John “Good morning!” before Mrs Adler had pulled him completely out of the shop and under the umbrella held by her footman. Sherlock cursed her timing inwardly, even while maintaining his social smile.

Back inside the bookshop, John had no trouble having his enquiries answered as to the identity of the lady. Mrs Adler and Mr Sherlock Holmes were widely rumoured to be, if not actually engaged, then the next best thing to it. It was rather the local sensation, seeing as Mrs Adler had first been interested in the elder Mr Holmes but had thrown over the heir in favour of the younger son. But all present could agree that the younger son was much better looking, and it was well known that Mrs Adler had enough money to marry where she liked. It was said that Lady Holmes and Sir Siger were anxious for either of their sons to marry her and redeem some rather pressing debts on the family.

John had heard enough. He clenched his fists and walked out of the bookshop heedless of the rain, even forgetting that he had an umbrella under his arm.

**..oOo..**

It was another week before Sherlock saw John again. It seemed a ridiculously long time, considering that in Bath everyone saw everyone else nearly every day, but they were in different social circles once again. Sir and Lady Holmes were working the elite side of town, while John was mostly associating with navy colleagues and friends of his sister.

However, this evening there was a concert being hosted by the navy band. The society people were all invited and the navy people would also be in attendance. Sherlock would see John again! The only blot on the horizon was that without a carriage of their own the Holmeses would once again be conveyed to the concert and back by Mrs Adler. Sherlock had little hope that he could get rid of her. His only ambition was to speak with John again, and perhaps find out the state of his feelings towards Mary.

As the carriage only held four, Mrs Adler took Lady Holmes and her two sons to the concert first, and would send the carriage back for Sir Siger. Mrs Adler had allowed plenty of time to make certain that Sir Siger would be able to hear the concert from the beginning, with the consequence that they arrived very early. The foyer to the hall was practically empty and very cold, so Lady Holmes immediately headed for the large fireplace taking Mycroft with her. Mrs Adler was outside giving instructions to her driver, so Sherlock was the first to see John enter the room. He was headed for the fireplace and would have passed by Sherlock standing just to one side of the entrance, except that Sherlock reached out and daringly placed a hand on his sleeve.

“How do you do, John,” he said, in a low voice.

John turned to him with surprise and pleasure. “I am well, and I have no need to ask how you are. You look well, I see.” He tilted his head to one side. “You have given up the laudanum?”

Sherlock started. “I… Yes. How did you know?”

John shrugged. “Harry had a wound several years ago, and the doctors gave her laudanum for it and she became addicted. It was a… difficult time and I remember the signs. She is over it now though. Clara brought her to her senses.” John flicked his head as if to throw off dark thoughts. “But I have hardly seen you since that day at Lyme – how did you recover from the shock of that dreadful day?”

Sherlock said, “Captain Murray did so well, and Elizabeth stayed with Mary. Really, I had nothing to do.”

John passed his hand across his forehead. “It was a horrible day. Just the memory of it…” Then he looked up and smiled. “Still, something good has come of it, as I suppose you might have heard - Mary Morstan and Captain Murray are engaged!”

Sherlock smiled, “Yes, your sister told me last week. I am glad for them. I hope you are too?”

John replied heartily, “With all my soul I wish them happy. Captain Murray is a solid sort and Miss Morstan seems determined to make him happy. Best of all, her family supports the match. They have no whims or caprices against them at home and nothing to wait for. Happiness seems just around the corner for them.” There was an awkward pause as both John and Sherlock reflected on events in the past before John resumed. “The only point which surprises me is Captain Murray’s recovering so quickly from losing his fiancée. It seems to me that a man should not recover from losing a part of his heart. He ought not, he does not.” John trailed off. Sherlock was struck by his wording; _losing a part of his heart._ Could it mean…?

Just at that moment their conversation was interrupted by Mrs Adler taking Sherlock’s arm and tugging him into the concert hall. His very interesting conversation with John must be put on hold for now, but there was still interval ahead. Besides, he had information to process. In the last ten minutes he had learned more of John’s thoughts about Mary and possibly about Sherlock himself than he had thought possible an hour ago.

Sherlock was seated next to Mrs Adler, of course, but he managed to manoever himself to the end of the bench so that the seat on his other side was free. He could not see John at the moment, probably he was still in the foyer, but if he happened to come in and happened to see a seat free next to Sherlock… But that was too much happiness to expect. The music began and John was still nowhere in sight. Sherlock allowed his eyes to roam around the room as much as he could without turning his head, and finally spied John leaning against a wall on the other side of the room. The whole width of the hall separated them, for now. Sherlock settled down to enjoy the music, and the anticipation of interval.

Towards the end of the first act there was a selection of songs in Italian. No-one else understood the language, so the whole party inclined to listen to Sherlock explain the meaning of the words. No eyes were more attentively fixed on his face than Mrs Adler’s. At the conclusion of his explanation the others all turned back to their own concert bills, but Mrs Adler continued to lean close.

“That was well explained. One cannot speak of the ‘sense’ of an Italian love song, but you conveyed the meaning of the words in beautiful English.”

Sherlock shrugged. “As you say, there is not much sense to convey.”

Mrs Adler leaned even closer to whisper in Sherlock’s ear. “You are too modest. I know you have accomplishments beyond what you display to the company here.” She finally leaned back and gave him a mysterious smile.

Sherlock frowned. “What do you mean? You can only have heard of me before my arrival from Mycroft. You did not recognize me in Lyme.”

“No, that is true, but I had heard of you prior to that date. In fact, I have known of you by name and reputation for many years now.” She raised one arched eyebrow.

No-one can withstand the allure of a mystery, least of all Sherlock Holmes. His interest was raised despite himself, and he leaned towards her and pressed for an answer. “Who can have spoken to you of me?”

Mrs Adler laughed at him. She delighted in being pressed, but she would not tell. “No, no! Not today. Another time perhaps. For now, I shall only tell you that the name of Sherlock Holmes has long held a deep interest for me. The only name I can imagine ever being more fascinated by would be Irene Holmes.” With that, she turned her attention back to the stage.

Sherlock was just grappling with the thought that she had really said what he thought, when his ears caught the sound of Mycroft and his mother talking softly on Mrs Adler’s other side.

“Isn’t that the brother of Admiral Watson standing over there?”

“Yes, I believe so. He’s a Captain now. He must be Captain Watson.”

“Was he the same one who Sherlock…?”

“Yes. Yes, he was. Well, no-one could have known how well he would turn out. I hear he made thousands of pounds during the war and now is considered one of the most eligible matches in Bath.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Sherlock has Mrs Adler now.”

Sherlock felt his cheeks heating up, and even more so when he realized that John was making his way over to them. He had the whole hall to cross, but he should arrive at Sherlock’s side just in time for interval. Sherlock wished Mrs Adler were not sitting right next to him, and certainly not leaning so very close and holding his arm so very tightly.

Interval came, but John did not. The rest of the party adjourned to the foyer for cups of tea, but Mrs Adler would not be shaken. She would not be removed from Sherlock’s side and continued to grip his arm and make small talk until he was ready to snarl at her. Only the knowledge of the humiliation it would bring his mother kept him civil, but it could not avoid bringing a flush to his cheeks.

Just as interval was ending and everyone was resuming their seats, John passed by the end of Sherlock’s bench. Sherlock’s eyes were bright looking up at him, and his cheeks were flushed with pleasure and the warmth of the hall – and it was all for Mrs Adler clinging onto his arm. John ground his teeth with frustration.

John considered sitting down at the end of the bench next to Sherlock but to sit there with Mrs Adler holding Sherlock’s arm on his other side? No, intolerable! Finally, John contented himself with simply saying to Sherlock with a stiff bow, “Good night, I must be going.”

Sherlock looked up from his bench, his eye fixed on John’s face. “Would you not consider staying for one more song? I believe there is to be a very good Italian duet coming up.”

“No,” gritted out John shortly. “There is nothing worth staying for. I do not care for Italian songs.” Then he strode off, and the next aria was starting. 

When the song finished, Sherlock was free to look around the hall and check the shadows at the back and around the entrance. John had gone. What had he thought of Mrs Adler pawing at him? Was he jealous? Could that be why he had left? If so, how could Sherlock reach him with the truth? Sherlock realized abruptly that the music was resuming, and he was fixed in his seat for the duration. With a sigh he settled down to endure another hour of pleasure before he would be allowed to go home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next day after the concert.

The next morning Sherlock had arranged to visit Mrs Hudson again. He was glad, as it would take him out of the house at the time that Mrs Adler usually called. He walked from Camden Place to Westgate Buildings in a daze, thinking the whole time of the concert and the conversation with John beforehand.

When he arrived at Mrs Hudson’s rooms, she very particularly wanted to hear about the concert and the party afterwards, and was rather disappointed in Sherlock’s vagueness about the details of it all.

“Were the Durands there?” she asked.

Sherlock admitted that he had not noticed.

“How about the Ibbotsons?”

Sherlock did not think they were there, but was not quite sure.

Mrs Hudson sighed, then recollected herself. “Ah well, but I hear you were very well entertained with your own party, so I expect you never needed to look beyond at other people.”

“I should have looked about myself more,” returned Sherlock, with a rather conscious blush that he had done plenty of looking about, but only for one person in particular.

Mrs Hudson gave him a saucy smile. “But you had a pleasant evening, I see it in your eyes. You had music to listen to, and a lovely lady to look at and converse with – nothing more was needed.”

Sherlock frowned. “What have you heard? Do you know Mrs Adler?”

“Actually, I do. She and my late husband were very well acquainted. In fact,” Mrs Hudson spoke in a rush, “I hope you might mention me to her and beg for her assistance. At the time my husband died she owed him a share of money from a mutual venture they had been working on. I thought that once… once you two were married you might be able to convince her to part with at least some of it, to my benefit.”

Sherlock started. “Married? What makes you think Mrs Adler and I are going to be married?”

Mrs Hudson covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh my dear, I am so sorry. Is it not supposed to be mentioned yet?” She dropped her eyes to the floor. “I should have waited for official confirmation, I know, but I was anxious about the money, you see. Please forgive me. I won’t mention it again until after the official announcement.”

Sherlock was starting to get angry, “There is not and never will be any official announcement of my marriage to Mrs Adler!” he exclaimed. “It was not Mrs Adler that I…” he broke off.

Mrs Hudson gave him a penetrating stare, but said nothing.

Sherlock resumed more calmly, “So you have known Mrs Adler for some time? Might you have spoken of me to her at any stage?”

“Oh my goodness, of course yes, naturally I did. We were good friends for years, and I told her about all my favourite boarders. I was so very proud of you and your accomplishments, and that you chose to board with me.”

“Well, that explains something she said to me last night.” Sherlock murmured.

Mrs Hudson placed her hand on his arm. “My dear, tell me truly now, are you definitely not engaged and have you absolutely no intention of marrying Mrs Adler?”

Sherlock snorted, “Definitely not and absolutely none. I don’t know how such a rumour ever got started.”

“Such things happen when people spend a lot of time together, but that’s not important now.” She leaned further forward and fixed him with an earnest gaze. “You need to know her true nature, lest she ensnare you or Mycroft in the future. She is a selfish, designing, ambitious woman without a care for anyone in the world except herself. She is involved in criminal activities and her fortune is built on blood. Now she wants a title to add to her money – be assured that if you had married her, Mycroft’s life would have been worth nothing.”

Sherlock felt a chill at their narrow escape. He had never been very close to Mycroft, but he would not wish him dead!

“Now, let us talk of pleasanter things – I must tell you what Nurse Rooke been saying about the gossip of Bath.”

**..oOo..**

When Sherlock returned to Camden Place, he was dismayed to find Mrs Adler visiting his mother once again. He needed to tell his family what he had discovered about her, but could not do it with her present in their very midst. After endless excruciating chat, full of her usual insinuations and sly winks which Sherlock found increasingly distasteful, she finally rose to take her leave, saying as she did so, “Until tomorrow night then – I look forward to your party with great pleasure.” She nodded to Sherlock as she swept out of the room.

Sherlock turned immediately to his mother, “Party? What party?”

Lady Holmes waved her fan idly, “Oh, I have decided to host a small evening party, just the family and the Watsons and the Lestrades gathering for an evening of cards and music. Not a big event, there will only be a cold collation and a string quartet.”

“And Mrs Adler will be present.” Sherlock scowled.

“Of course, dear. She is very attentive to… all of us and is invited to all my parties.”

“You needn’t invite her on _my_ account,” said Sherlock, flatly. “I despise the woman. I hear she made her money in criminal activities and I beg you to make your own enquiries. I would much rather that she never set foot in this house again!”

There was a surprised silence following this startling announcement, then Lady Holmes elegantly turned the subject. Mycroft did not forget, however. He had his own sources of information and would certainly use them.

**..oOo..**

John was restless. It was all very well staying with his sister and attending parties and concerts all over Bath, but the one person he really wanted to see was socially out of his reach. It was driving him crazy with jealousy to hear of Sherlock and Mrs Adler being seen everywhere together. Rumour had it that their engagement would be announced any day, and John lived in dread of it. From one point of view it was possible that Sherlock could not be any more lost to him if he were married to someone else than he was now, but John could not help thinking that if only he had a chance, if only Mrs Adler were out of the way, then he could make Sherlock love him again.

So it was with interest that he received an invitation to the Lestrades’ house for a luncheon party. Would Sherlock be there? It might be one of his few chances to catch Sherlock alone, as the Lestrades were too socially insignificant to be of interest to the very practical Mrs Adler. He dressed carefully, brushed his hat and donned his best gloves. This might be his only chance.

As the Watsons alighted from Harry’s carriage John was disappointed to see that Sherlock was not present at the luncheon party. The Lestrades had invited the Morstans, including both Mary and Captain Murray, and the Watsons but it appeared that no Holmeses were expected.

Lunch passed slowly, most of the discussion centering around Mary’s upcoming wedding. John smiled and made polite conversation and wondered how soon he could tear Harry and Clara away for a walk into town instead. Sherlock had been to the bookshop once before, could he arrange to run into him again there?

They had adjourned from the table to the parlour where tea was just being poured and fruit passed around, when the maid appeared to announce the arrival of “Mr Holmes and Mr Sherlock Holmes”. In another moment both Mycroft and Sherlock walked into the room.

The reason for their arrival was for Mycroft to hand out cards for a “small family gathering” the next day. John felt a chill. Would this be the night they planned to announce Sherlock’s engagement to Mrs Adler? Harry accepted their card from Mycroft and made suitable noises about being “very pleased” and “completely disengaged that evening”.

John felt himself to be too agitated to speak to anyone with composure, so sat down at a small writing table nearby and pretended to busy himself with writing a letter. Too late, he realized that Greg Lestrade and Sherlock were quietly conversing by the window almost at his elbow. He buried his head in his writing and unashamedly strained to overhear their conversation.

Greg was teasing Sherlock about the party the next evening, “You have not been in Bath long enough to appreciate the fine art of card playing.”

Sherlock snorted. “It is pure chance, no skill is involved. Card parties hold no interest for me at all.”

Greg sighed in agreement, then nudged Sherlock with his elbow. “I suppose all your interest will be for Mrs Adler?”

Sherlock replied with cool indifference, “No, she is not invited. My Lady Mother has found out some information to her disadvantage, and I believe all intercourse between her and our family is at an end.”

John felt his heart stop, then resume thundering. Could it be true? Had Lady Holmes dismissed Mrs Adler from their house? John rejoiced to hear it. Sherlock was _not_ engaged! Perhaps he had a chance after all!

After a moment of silence Greg spoke. “Look at them,” he nodded at Captain Murray and Mary Morstan. “He has forgotten that six months ago he was engaged to another.”

Sherlock said quietly, “He is an active man with an active profession. It is natural that his thoughts and emotions should move quickly. It is different with us gentlemen who live quiet, private lives. I know I should never forget being engaged, even if my fiancé were to be lost to me forever.”

Greg laughed disbelievingly, “It is active, busy men who have the strongest feelings! Take a navy man such as Captain Murray, I have no doubt his feelings are robust and able to bear the heaviest weather. He will have labour and toil enough, for Mary’s fortune is not so large that they will be able to live upon it without his profession.”

“True enough,” Sherlock admitted. “But I will put forth that private gentlemen have tenderer feelings, and with less to distract us our thoughts dwell more consistently in the domestic sphere. Consider that when Captain Murray is at sea, Mary’s life will revolve around his letters. When he is home, her every thought will be only for his comfort and entertainment in the short time they have together before he goes away again. I imagine,” Sherlock coughed for a moment, “I imagine that she will live for those times of domestic happiness when he is home and those memories will be her main support and stay for those times when he is away.”

John was horrified at this juncture to knock a pen off the table, drawing their attention to him. Both looked around, but then returned to their own, very interesting, conversation. John drew a piece of paper toward himself and began to write in earnest.

“Surely,” Greg said, “you do not believe that active men are unable to feel emotions?”

“Oh no,” Sherlock hastened to add. “I fully believe that active men are capable of the full range of emotions, particularly when they have a responsive partner. Who could not love, with eyes full of love looking back?” They looked at Mary and Captain Murray for a moment. “All I claim for myself is that private gentlemen have the capacity to love longest, even when all hope is gone.” His laugh was self-deprecating and bitter. “It is a small enough claim, you need not envy it. Indeed,” he added in a lower voice, “sometimes I wish it were not so.”

Just then Harry called out to John, saying that their carriage was ready and that they must leave as they had another evening party to attend. John rose from his table, tucking his paper into his jacket, and accompanied Harry and Clara down the stairs. As they were assisted into the carriage, John slapped himself on the forehead. “My dear, please excuse me! I seem to have left my gloves on the writing table. I will be just a moment.” With that, he dashed back up the stairs and into the Lestrades’ drawing room.

“My humblest apologies, it seems I forgot my gloves. Ah, there they are.” He crossed to the writing table, and as he had hoped, Sherlock and Greg were still standing at the window. He picked up his gloves and at the same time dropped his piece of paper on the table. Catching Sherlock’s glance, he looked pointedly at the paper, then left the room again. Sherlock was clever. It would be enough.

**..oOo..**

Sherlock snatched up the piece of paper on the writing desk and secured it inside his jacket before anyone could mark what he had done. His pulse was loud in his ears. How to find a moment to read it? Now, or should he wait until they were safe at home? No, he could not wait so long to read a message from John.

Perhaps the same cover which John had used would work for him? Murmuring about some correspondence which he needed to address, he excused himself from Greg’s company and sank down to sit at the small writing desk. With shaking fingers he unfolded the letter and read the sharply slanted, hurried, almost illegible writing.

_Dearest Sherlock,_

_I dare greatly to address you as such again, but I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that an active man forgets sooner than a gentleman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you. You alone have brought me to Bath. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes?_

_I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish the tones of that voice when they would be lost on others. Excellent creature! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among navy men. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating in your servant,_

_J. W._

_I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow your party, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter your father's house tomorrow evening or never._

Sherlock could hardly breathe. John loved him! John had written to him right here at this table, listening to his conversation with Greg. He let the sounds of the room fade away as he dreamed of John’s blue eyes lit from within by passion.

“Sherlock!” Mycroft sounded annoyed, he must have been calling Sherlock previously.

“Yes?” Sherlock replied.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “I said, we need to leave immediately as I have an appointment at the gunsmith to see a new double-barrel he had in stock. We need to hurry.”

“Of course, as you wish.” Sherlock stood, tucking the precious letter inside his waistcoat.

They made their way down the stairs and started into town. Mycroft was impatient. “Please walk faster Sherlock, or we will not have time to inspect the gun properly before closing time.”

“Mycroft, I do not feel well. Perhaps I should just go home and let you see the gun by yourself.”

Mycroft stood irresolute. Clearly he felt that if Sherlock were unwell, he should not be allowed to walk home alone. Mycroft would have to give up his appointment to take his brother home. With a resigned sigh, Mycroft turned and gave Sherlock his arm as they proceeded up the street. “Would you rather we called for a chair?” Mycroft asked solicitously.

“No, no. A walk will do me good.” Sherlock answered. “Too much sitting indoors, that is all.”

Just then Sherlock heard the quick tap of familiar footsteps on the pavement behind them. With only a moment of preparation he turned and saw John walking up to them. John glanced at Sherlock and a look was given, but no word was needed.

Mycroft was greeting John. “Captain Watson! Perhaps you could do me a favour, if you are heading up towards Camden Place? My brother is not well, but I have an appointment in Market Street. Perhaps if you would be so good as to escort him home? He will not have a chair unless you are more persuasive than I.”

John smiled. “I would never try to persuade Mr Holmes against his will. I would be happy to escort him home, if he would accept my hand?” John extended his left hand to Sherlock.

“I would be honoured.” Sherlock blushed and slipped his arm through John’s, taking his place at John’s side.

Mycroft thanked John briefly and hurried away. Sherlock and John started walking slowly towards Camden Place. Without speaking, John placed his right hand over Sherlock’s arm where it was linked with his and they continued walking.

After a while Sherlock heard John murmur something soft. It sounded like, “You are really here.”

“I was always waiting for you. Why didn’t you come to talk to me at interval during the concert last week?”

“I saw you were busy with Mrs Adler, and I could not watch. You were there with her, and I knew your family were around you and in favour of the match. How could I stay without agony every moment?”

“I never felt anything for Mrs Adler.”

“I know that now.” John’s eyes met Sherlock’s and they smiled as they walked.

Sherlock darted a glance down at John. “How about you and Mary Morstan?”

John pursed his lips. “I wanted to forget you. I thought I was indifferent to you when really I was just angry. I did not know myself until I saw Mrs Adler looking at you at Lyme, and then I realized I was jealous. I still wanted you, but thought I had no hope. And then,” he ran his fingers through his hair, “then Mary fell and I could feel was guilt. I had led her on, I knew it, and if she wanted me and was disabled, how could I refuse to marry her? I was in a trap of my own making. But I was luckier than I deserved; she recovered and learned to love someone else. I confess I hoped it might be so when I went away.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes. “You must then imagine my joy on hearing from Murray that they were engaged! He is a good man and will treat her well. I was happy for him, but even more for myself. I was free to try for you once again, to exert myself to win you if I could. I set off for Bath at that very moment.”

Sherlock lifted his left hand and placed it over John’s right. He slipped his long fingers under the edge of John’s coat cuff and ran his hand curiously over John’s fingers. Yes, John still wore that ring from so long ago. He touched his sensitive fingertips lightly to the top, checking the shape of the well-remembered stone. He had only worn it himself for a few hours but he recalled the shape and feel of it exactly. How could he not? He had imagined so many times what might have been…

“It’s yours. It always has been. There was never anyone else.” John said quietly.

“The ring? Your hand? Or your heart and affection?” Sherlock asked with a sideways glance.

John smiled. “Yes.”

Sherlock laughed. “Well, are you planning to give me my ring back, then?”

“ _Your_ ring?” John quirked an eyebrow.

Sherlock widened his eyes innocently, “You bought it to match my eyes, I believe?”

“No.” John grinned at him, while Sherlock frowned. “I bought it to match the cufflinks I want to give you for our engagement.”

Sherlock pressed John’s arm closer against his side. “Somehow, I must learn to tolerate being happier than I deserve.”

 

**FINIS**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But there will be an epilogue! Somehow this story didn’t really earn its rating! I need to correct that! (The epilogue will be mostly smut so you don't need to look if that's not your thing.)


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three months later...

Captain John Watson made his future in-laws a very handsome present on the announcement of his engagement to Sherlock Holmes. The exact amount was never disclosed, but it was enough to clear the debt on Sherrinford Hall and for the family to move back there.

Sherlock Holmes would therefore be able to be married from his own home and for once Sherlock and Mycroft were in agreement, though it was quite likely that the worth of John Watson would be one of the few things they would ever agree on. Mycroft was also starting to see value in another friend of John’s, a certain Commodore Musgrove who also had some independent property of his own. Lady Holmes did not perfectly like the idea of both her sons marrying into the navy but Sir Siger spoke to her so reasonably of prize money and some new furniture for the parlour that she soon came around. Weddings were such contagious things, it seemed.

Admiral Harry Watson and Clara took another house in the neighbourhood only three miles off, so John was able to ride over to visit Sherlock every day. After the banns were read, if sometimes John’s horse was stabled at Sherrinford Hall overnight, well, horses need a good rest sometimes and no-one in the family was inclined to pass unfavourable comment on a man who took such good care of his mount.

Mrs Hudson was the next to benefit from the engagement, both in happiness and in more practical terms. John had connections in the West Indies which allowed her to reclaim a small amount of property there which her husband had invested in, but which she had previously been unable to access. His contacts and exertion on her account were insignificant compared with the joy of the removal of Irene Adler from their lives. Her health also improved to such an extent that she was able to resume taking boarders, which she did in Bath so as not to lose her connection with the invaluable Nurse Rooke.

Captain Murray and Mary Morstan were married with Captain John Watson as the best man and Miss Elizabeth Morstan as the bridesmaid. They were a very happy couple, although it was noted by more than Mycroft that the best man only had eyes for his own fiancé and the thought crossed more than one mind that the sooner those two were wed the better.

**..oOo..**

The wedding was held in the chapel behind Sherrinford Hall and the wedding breakfast was attended by the usual suspects; the Holmses, Watsons, Lestrades and Mrs Hudson. Irene Adler was not present, neither were Captain and Mary Murray, as they were still on their wedding tour.

Finally, all the ceremonies and social niceties had been performed and John and Sherlock were waved off in their new carriage. Sherlock was spitefully glad to be rid of the Holmes livery which had dogged most of his life to this point, along with discarding the Holmes name itself. He was planning to be known as ‘Mr Sherlock Watson’ from now on, much to his parents’ dismay. Mycroft as the heir was obliged to keep the Holmes name, of course, but Sherlock was slyly content with the implication that he regarded Captain Watson’s name as being more worthy of keeping than his own birth title.

In the back of their carriage John was also interested in discarding things, starting with his new husband’s cravat. He was tugging it out of his waistcoat collar and untying it, and it landed on the floor of the carriage before Sherlock could protest that it was a new silk one.

“I love you in that blue velvet coat, and I can’t wait to tear it off you.” John was murmuring against Sherlock’s neck.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait until we arrive at our lodgings in Ironbridge? It will only be an hour, and then you can undress me at your leisure.”

“Oh, I will,” replied John. “I’ll do that as well, but first I want to play a bit. What is the point of a new carriage if isn’t christened properly, eh?” John’s quick fingers had already worked the buttons of Sherlock’s waistcoat loose and were swiftly moving down to give the same treatment to his trouser buttons. “If a man can’t be eager on his wedding day, when can he?”

Sherlock decided to go directly for the point of interest, slipping open the buttons of John’s waistband and sliding his long fingers directly into the fall of John’s breeches. “Well, if eagerness is the theme of the day, then by all means let us embrace it.” He grasped John’s hardness and started stroking, sliding cool fingers over hot flesh.

John groaned but refused to be distracted from his project of peeling away enough of Sherlock’s clothing to touch bare skin. Once he had Sherlock’s waistcoat fully open he pushed up the fine linen shirt underneath and the breeches and smallclothes down. “You are wearing far too many pieces of cloth!” he exclaimed. “A special wedding license should include a special provision for not wearing underwear!”

Sherlock chuckled low in his throat, which set John scrambling even more desperately to touch skin. “Whatever would Mummy say?”

“I’m rather more interested in the noises _you_ are about to make,” said John, as he slid to his knees. “Do you remember how I made you feel once in the greenhouse, with just my mouth?”

“How could I forget?” Sherlock looked down at John, his heart in his eyes. “I should never have given you up. I should have had more faith in us.”

“Hush, never mind the past. We are together now and I find I very much want to celebrate the present moment.” John placed a hand on Sherlock’s chest to encourage him to sit back, giving John better access. John had Sherlock’s pants fully open, folding the fall back to allow him a moment to just gaze at his new husband. “Let me show you how happy I plan to make you, every single day.”

John took Sherlock’s erection firmly in his left hand and applied the rough side of his tongue to the crown, swirling slowly around the tip as he drew Sherlock fully into his mouth, never letting his eyes drop from Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock shuddered at the sensation and whispered, “I like seeing my ring shine on your finger as you do that.” Without replying in words, John reached up with his right hand and laced his fingers with Sherlock’s left, turning his wrist so that he could admire the two rings sitting snugly together on Sherlock’s hand. The old ring with the blue stone was now accompanied by a gold band that matched the one on John’s left hand. Long-standing affection was now joined by a new and determined commitment.

“It’s too much,” gasped Sherlock, “I’ve waited so long… Just seeing you like this…”

“This is only the beginning, love,” said John. “Relax. Let me give you this now, and we will take it slower tonight.” John bent his head again to Sherlock’s lap, sliding him into his mouth, working his tongue along the length, using strokes that were light and quick, creating delicious slick sensations. The tension built quickly in Sherlock’s thighs, then he was giving helpless shallow thrusts with his hips and spilling into John’s mouth in urgent, rhythmic pulses. He groaned and slumped against the padded back wall of the carriage.

John slid up onto the seat and leaned back next to Sherlock. “That was just to make tonight better,” he whispered into his husband’s ear. Sherlock groaned again, wordlessly. _How could it possibly be better?_

**..oOo..**

When they arrived at their lodgings in Ironbridge their boxes were taken to their room, and John and Sherlock had time for a walk before dinner. They strolled around the garden walks holding hands and exchanging lazy kisses. Neither of them could have said afterwards what they were given for dinner. They cleared their plates while staring into each other’s eyes, finally abandoning their desserts in favour of the privacy of their wedding chamber.

John locked the door behind them as they entered their bedchamber. He loosened his neckcloth and shrugged off his jacket. Sherlock started to pull at his own cravat but John stopped him. “Let me. I want to take off everything you are wearing, slowly, and kiss every part of you as it is revealed.”

Sherlock shivered, and stood still awaiting John’s attention. John shucked off his own clothes until he was just in his shirtsleeves. The hem of his shirt fell to mid-thigh, giving him the appearance of decency, for now.

John pulled Sherlock’s jacket down off his shoulders and away, tossing it over a nearby chair. He tugged at the cravat, exposing Sherlock’s neck and kissing across the collarbones as he unbuttoned the waistcoat. “Haven’t I done this already today?” he murmured, as if to himself. “And yet you are just as tantalizing the second time around.”

John pushed the brocade waistcoat off Sherlock, tossing it after the coat, then loosened the laces at wrist and throat before lifting the hem of the shirt over Sherlock’s head. He spread his hands flat, stroking gently over Sherlock’s hairless chest and dipping his head to kiss each nipple in turn. He rested his head for a moment over Sherlock’s heart, feeling the warmth and life of his husband against his cheek. “I can’t believe you are really here, that we are really married.”

“Oh yes, we are really married,” Sherlock whispered, “and I plan to exercise my marital rights over you very, very soon.” Sherlock drew John with him towards their bed, sitting on the edge for a moment and placing his hands on John’s stomach, under his shirt. Sherlock slipped his hands upwards, excruciatingly slowly, revealing John’s eager erection and flat stomach and chest. He pulled the shirt off over John’s head and tossed it away to land somewhere out of sight. Sherlock then slid backwards onto the bed, lying down as John crawled over him and once again laid his head on Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock raised one eyebrow and used a finger to lift John’s chin to face him. “Are you too tired? You keep trying to rest on me. Shall we wait until tomorrow?”

“Oh no,” John smiled happily, “I’m just listening to your heart speeding up every time I touch you. You respond so beautifully under my hands, I’m appreciating every part of you – both inside and out.”

“Inside?” Sherlock licked his full lips. “Now that’s a thought.” With a wriggle of his hips Sherlock kicked off his tangled breeches, drawers and stockings and was suddenly naked beneath John. “I want you… I want you to take me and make me entirely yours,” he whispered.

John pressed full length against him as he slowly possessed his mouth. The kisses were slow and all-consuming. “You are mine. Always. Only mine. No-one else will ever touch you, please you like this.” John was peppering light kisses all over his lips, his cheeks and down his neck. Sherlock groaned and lifted his hips in both suggestion and invitation.

John laughed low in his chest. “There’s no rush, love. I want to make this very good for you, and that means taking it slowly. We’ve both been saving this moment for tonight,” John kissed his way down Sherlock’s long, lean torso, “and I plan to make it worth the wait.” John was kissing Sherlock’s nipples as he finally reached down to wrap his hand around Sherlock’s fully erect cock. He gave it several long, slow strokes then paused again until Sherlock made a noise of protest and thrust into his hand to create the sensation he was lusting after.

“Yes,” growled John, “I want you needing me, desperate for what only _I_ can give you.” John gripped and stroked Sherlock’s erection more firmly. When Sherlock was groaning and clutching at the sheets with his hands, John quickly licked his finger to make it suitably wet and slid one fingertip into Sherlock’s entrance. He pushed in slowly, twisting his wrist a little and pausing between thrusts to let Sherlock’s body adjust. He kept working his left hand up and down Sherlock’s cock, keeping him focused on the pleasurable sensations to override any discomfort.

When Sherlock had relaxed into the new feeling, John pulled back and moved off the bed for a moment. He rummaged in his box, finally producing out a small jar. Sherlock raised one eyebrow questioningly.

“Olive oil,” explained John. “Works better and lasts longer than just making everything wet with my mouth. It will be more comfortable for both of us.” John gave a rather sceptical grin. “They say the Spanish stuff is the best, but we’ll just have to experiment and come to our own conclusions.”

“By all means, let us experiment,” Sherlock replied.

John returned to lie next to Sherlock, pulling Sherlock’s leg up and over his hip to give him access to the most interesting parts of Sherlock’s body. “Let me kiss you,” he whispered. “I want you to feel how much I love you. Feel it all over your body.” John kissed Sherlock deeply, moving his lips and tongue slowly until Sherlock relaxed and opened his mouth. Then he pressed forward with his tongue while with his fingers he gently invaded Sherlock’s body, taking him in two different ways.

Once his fingers were fully inside, John curved his hand slightly and pressed forward. Sherlock’s mouth fell open and he screwed his eyes shut, a series of harsh panting noises issuing from his lips. “Oh, John! The things you do to me… the way you make me feel… I never even imagined…”

“Yes, love, I want to give you all this and more.” John stroked Sherlock’s sweet spot until he was whimpering and pushing his hips forward. Then John urged Sherlock to roll towards him, so that he was lying on his belly. John tucked a pillow under Sherlock’s hips, then moved around behind him and lay down against his back.

“What are you…? Why…? I want to see you.” Sherlock tossed his head to each side, trying to strain around to see John.

“Sssh, love. There will be plenty of time for that. For the first time I want it to be as easy for you as possible. I want you to enjoy it all.” John positioned himself at the opening to Sherlock’s body and slowly and smoothly entered him. He paused for a moment, rubbing one hand in small circles over Sherlock’s lower back until he felt the muscles there relax. Then with a smooth roll of his hips he pulled back and plunged in again, hearing Sherlock gasp at the sensation.

“Oh God, John, that’s amazing!” Sherlock whimpered, “We are joined now. You are inside me.”

“Yes, love,” panted John, “You are amazing and I love you so much.”

As John moved his hips a bit faster, thrusting eagerly into Sherlock’s warm body, Sherlock’s soft cries suddenly leapt up in pitch and volume. “Oh, John! Right there! Oh yes, like that…”

John smiled and reached around to touch Sherlock’s straining erection, stroking him in rhythm with his hip movements. They were both so excited, it wouldn’t take much… Then Sherlock was crying out and his whole body gave several long spasmodic shudders as his seed spilled over John’s hand in hot, quick pulses. With his climax his body clamped down on John where they were joined, making John gasp and lose control. John’s orgasm blasted through him all the more intensely for being unexpected, he had been so focused on Sherlock’s pleasure.

They lay quietly together, with John plastered to Sherlock’s back, listening to their heartbeats and breathing slow down. Finally John lifted himself up leaned off the edge of the bed to find a soft piece of linen on the floor. He wiped over the damp and sticky parts of both of them, then pitched the cloth off the bed again. He lay down on his side facing Sherlock, who appeared to be asleep.

“John?” he murmured without opening his eyes. “I can feel my every heartbeat all through my body including in my feet. Is that normal?”

John laughed a little and nuzzled his face into his husband’s shoulder. “Good, isn’t it? And you know the best part?”

Sherlock opened one eye and looked at John. “Mmm?”

John kissed him lightly and settled down to sleep, dragging one of Sherlock’s arms over his shoulder. “I plan to keep doing this with you for the rest of our lives.”

“Mmm.” Sherlock smiled and sighed in contentment, and they both drifted into sleep.

John and Sherlock rested together, nestled against each other, bodies curled together, hands entwined over John’s heart, his back pressed against Sherlock’s chest. In that moment their long denied wishes and hopes were finally answered in the perfect happiness of their union.

**THE END**


End file.
